Try Again
by NightingTale
Summary: Song by Keane. Story by Me.


**Try Again**

Saying goodbye is something I was never very good at, and it remains a field I am far from "expert" in. 300 miles from home, the early afternoon September sunlight streaming through the pokey window into the small room, it was what I found myself doing though.

I looked into my mothers tearful eyes. She looked into mine, broken. Every child believes that they are doing the right thing in this moment. No matter how much doubt shrouds one's judgement, all you do is stare back, tears swelling in your own eyes like the lump in your throat, and something tells you that you're doing it all right.

All the moments building up to this one seem to mould into one as I tried to reel back the tears. A long summer had passed, now the days were getting shorter and darker, and I'd have to fight my own battles now. I cast my mind back to the stage where everything seemed to be going my way...

It's late July and the summers eve is drawing near. Waiting in the hustle and bustle of the town in a loose pair of denim shorts and a plain black tee, I stand, checking my phone. I look up, back down, 20 seconds later I'd rinse and repeat.

It was Disney love. The kind that was too good to be true and you can't sleep because why dream when real life is so much better.

She finally walks through the doors and throws herself into my arms, a huge sigh of relief escaping her lungs. She loosens her grip, sliding backwards so we're now eye to eye. "Hey," she says playfully. Everything about her beams of radiant happiness. Her eyes twinkle in the sinking sun, her teeth plain to see as her smile beams back at me. The wind ruffles her hair softly.

"Hey," I reply, allowing myself to return a smile. My heart is thumping around my chest like a bouncy ball in a cardboard box. I lean in for the kiss. As our lips touch and fall away once more I smile once more.

Confidence has never been my niche and yet here I am, showing my feelings towards someone I've known for a week and been dating for a few days. There's not much I can say to explain this, it was just an uncontrollable falling from the first words.

She's soft in my arms, her cool skin sending further chills down my spine as she returns to reflect my gaze into her eyes.

We spend the evening by the lake. It's far less romantic than it sounds though. Being from an area where the average mothering age is less than the legal age, this is actually quite a popular dogging area I can imagine. I'd never been here before though, so I gave it a chance.

We stand under a small wooden hut for 20 minutes or so, not moving, just talking, eye-to-eye, heart to heart. Little do we realise, the sun has become a distant memory and the calling air soon turns damp. We sit upon a bench, looking down upon the small lake, the long grass buzzing with life. The rain is gentle, so we sit in the open, just talking still.

We laugh, we hug, we kiss, we talk. I fall further.

The rain inevitably becomes more heavy and I soon find myself chasing after her through a monsoon like downpour. As I catch up to her gentle jog, I gently put my arms around her. She stops her pace and we stand there for a moment. I bury my chin into her neck.

"I'm going to miss you," I say.

She turns her head a little to look at me. Tears gather in her eyes.

"I'm going to miss you too."

That's the last time I saw her.

The wheels hit the track and the customers, myself included, clap up a storm.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have now landed, we hope you have enjoyed flying with us today..." The female monotone peters out. My friend looks at me excited, "Ibiza here we come!"

It's not your casual 18-year-old trip to Ibiza, we're with our families, but nonetheless plan on spending less time playing Connect 4 and more time at the free bar.

The first few days pass quickly. It's my first trip abroad properly for a few years, and my first time further south than mid-France. We lap up the rays and the drinks for a few days, spending ample hours working on our tans.

At the back of my mind she's still there, I'm dying to just send a text to tell her I miss her and can't wait to see her when I get back. In my head, I'm making plans around my planned work schedule.

I'd recently been accepted to clean aircraft at the local airport, not a dream job, but it was a start. My family wasn't the richest, and they didn't really approve of my ambitions of University at the moment, so I would give them a year or two to win them over, I didn't want to cause any hurt or angst.

I look at my phone while my friend is in the shower, we're sharing a room whilst each of our families have on of their own. We're not same sex lovers or anything, we're just good mates, both of us having known each other for practically our entire stay on this planet, just a few weeks separating our births. My phone shows a missed call. It's work. I longed for it to be her.

I decide, with a week and a half of holiday left, and them knowing I'm away, to ignore it, and continue on with the sun-soaking, booze-busting antics.

About 5 days into our trip I'm sat by the edge of the pool. Being a guy of the rather pale skin group, it's fair to say I'm a little toasty. I soon become a little worse for wear. Shivering by the side of the pool, I don't really remember doing much else.

A couple of days later I'm taken to a local pharmacy where they tell me it's not just your average "scrawny English kid sun burn", it's an actual burn across the top half of my back.

I spend the next few days in an uncomfortable, sleepless pain, my back blistering tight. After a couple of days, I'm growing restless and I just want to be able to put a shirt on and go outside without every thread of cotton feeling like a guitar string peeling off a layer of skin at a time. My phone vibrates on my bedside. It's around 3 in the afternoon and my friend and both our families are at the pool, chilling, whilst I'm trying to recover.

I pick up my phone and turn to the message. I read it. Twice. Thrice. And a few more.

_'Hey, it's me, I'm on my friends phone. I'm sorry but I don't think it's going to work out between us, I'm really sorry xx'_

I pull on a shirt, grunting through the agony. I sit in pain, my back hurting a lot too. I plan to go to the computer area of reception and make my way onto Facebook to talk it over with her but I can't go that far. Instead I'm stuck in the room. Burnt, desolate, broken.

I recover eventually and find on Facebook that she's already with another guy. It kills me inside, destroys my confidence and spits me out the other side a broken person.

The levels of alcohol reach copious quantities and 3 nights before the end of our 2 week stay the inevitable happens. I wake up the following morning, feeling a bit thirsty. I'm completely unsure of what happened last night apart from me throwing up. A lot.

It turns out my Dad had to carry me back to my room where he tended to me until the crack of the next dawn before I finally found an end to the volley of churned up leftovers. I'm embarrassed, I'm broken and I feel as though I've completely ruined everything.

We fly back to England, my desolate spirit as added baggage for the return leg home.

After a day back, fixing my sleeping pattern I call the office of the work, hoping I'm starting in the coming weeks to start getting rid of this eternal monotony of gloom and endless free-time.

"I'm sorry," they say, "we've never heard of you, we don't have a job for you sir."

Turned down, thrown around, turned down. The summer wasn't favour some to me. I find myself turning to sleeping pills to try and get me to sleep before 5am. They don't work.

I spend my time applying for a few jobs, a few internships but nothing comes up.

I've always spent a lot of time online, and I've made a few friends. I get talking to one in the middle of August. They're a real smart, decent guy, a year younger than I, but they know a bit more than that. They inform me of "clearing", this way of applying for Uni just a few weeks before the semester started.

So here I was. About to say goodbye to my parents, the last face-to-face contact with them until November. A couple of months, but it's tough, especially with how I'm still feeling.

As my mum leans in for one final hug my dad looks on. Having been in his company for 18 years I've never seen him this close to tears, even at his own father's funeral. He hugs me too. Before they turn to leave he says the second sentence of the summer, the second I will remember for the rest of my time on this planet.

"Don't forget who we are."

I laugh.

"Never."


End file.
